Toturi Toshizo
Monkey Clan Magistrate

Enemy of My Enemy
By Rich Wulf

Kyuden Isawa was among the most serene of Rokugani palaces. The home of scholars, mystics, and holy men, the Isawa endeavoured to maintain their halls as a place of peaceful introspection. As the Voice of the Emperor, it was the Phoenix’s duty to maintain such peace, but this aura of calm did not extend into the chambers of one man.

Isawa Sezaru clutched an unfurled scroll in one hand, pacing back and forth across his chambers as he struggled to understand the gaijin text scrawled across its surface. In his other hand he held a folded scrap of golden silk, turning it over repeatedly in his hand, seeming to draw some small measure of comfort from its presence. He looked up quickly, an irritated expression upon his features. Several seconds later there was a soft knock and the door to his chambers slid open.

“Sezaru-sama,” his servant said.

Sezaru’s face had already softened, eyes widening in recognition. “Iuchi Katamari is here to see me,” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” his servant replied. She looked greatly surprised that he had known her message before she had reported it. She was new, of course, but she would adjust in time. He had foreseen it.

Sezaru rolled up the scroll and set it on a shelf with dozens of others. A thin man in dark purple robes entered, a steel mask covering his face. Sezaru turned to face him, bowing perfunctorily. “Still nothing, Katamari,” he said without greeting. “I have pored over all that we learned in the Burning Sands. I know much about the power our enemy now wields. So long as Iuchiban’s heart lies hidden he is safe from us, and all of my divinations invariably lead to the same answer. No being of the mortal realm knows the location of Iuchiban’s heart save the Bloodspeaker himself.”

“Then you will be pleased with the news I bring,” Katamari replied. Sezaru looked at Katamari urgently. Even with the new magics he had learned in the Burning Sands, he had difficulty reading the man who called himself the Doomseeker. “What have you learned?” he asked.

“Hida Kisada lives again,” Katamari said.

Sezaru looked at Katamari in surprise. “Oh?” he replied.

“He has gathered an army of Crab and now marches into Lion lands,” Katamari said. “Most follow him out of blind loyalty to his legacy; only a few know his true intent, but I have family among the Crab – who know the truth – and they have shared it with me. Kisada has returned from Yomi to seek the Hidden Heart.”

“But my divinations,” Sezaru said softly, then trailed off into silence. His shoulders shook slightly, then he began to softly laugh. He clutched the silken obi in one hand with a look of triumph. “Magic and riddles,” he said. “Of course, Kisada is not of the mortal realm! The truth lies with him. We must aid him, Katamari.”

“If Iuchiban realizes what Kisada intends, he will stop at nothing to destroy him,” Katamari said.

“Then the Great Bear is fortunate to have an army,” Sezaru answered. “Perhaps they can protect him long enough for us to arrive.”

In the lands of the Lion Clan, two armies faced one another on a wide plain. One consisted of proud Lion, thousands of soldiers in brilliant armour, their sashimono banners flapping defiantly in the wind. The second, smaller army was garbed in the steel grey and brick red of the Crab Clan. Soldiers on each side glanced at one another with wary suspicion, but none moved on either side. Their attention was focused on their commanders, now meeting on neutral ground between their forces.

Commander Matsu Aoiko leaned upon her magari-yari, the strange three-pronged spear favoured by her family. An arrogant sneer twisted her features as she looked up at the larger Crab general and chuckled under her breath. “The Great Bear, you say?” she asked him. “So Hida Kisada has returned from the grave and walks Rokugan once more?”

The massive figure only nodded. Clad entirely in armour so dark a blue it shone black, only his eyes were visible. He looked down at her impassively. “You are fortunate I do not believe your lies, Crab,” Aoiko retorted. “For if I did, I would remember the last time spirits returned to the Empire uninvited, and the fate that befell them. Much has changed since you last lived, ‘Kisada’. The dead remain where they belong for a reason now.” “You misjudge me and insult me, Lion,” the Crab said coldly. “I do not seek to conquer your lands, only to find something that has been lost here and destroy a great evil. If you wish, your soldiers can join my command and aid my quest.” “Join you?” Aoiko scoffed. “These are Lion lands, Great Bear. You are fortunate that I have not destroyed you.”

“With all respect, Aoiko-san, you are fortunate that you did not try,” Kisada answered evenly.

Aoiko frowned. “I do not respond well to threats, Crab,” she answered. “I wish to know the true reasons why you are here and how your army passed safely through the mountains.”

Kisada folded his mighty arms across his chest. “After the Battle of Beiden Pass I realised the folly of using such well travelled paths,” he answered. “I sought out other routes through the mountains.”

“There are no other passes,” Aoiko retorted.

“Obviously you are wrong,” he said. “The paths are there for those with the courage to walk them. Let your ignorance serve as evidence that I am no man to be trifled with. Let us pass.”

“And I am to let a Crab army march through my lands unquestioned so soon after your clan aided the Unicorn in war against us?” she asked. “Lay down your weapons, whoever you are, and know that it is only my Champion’s command that the Lion show mercy to our enemies for a time that preserves your life.”

Kisada’s eyes narrowed. “Listen to me well, Lion,” he said in a low, savage voice. He paused a long moment, seemed to collect himself, and took a deep breath. “I do not wish to waste my men’s lives in pointless combat. Our mission is urgent or we would have travelled north to the Seikitsu Pass through Unicorn territory. On my word as a son of Hida I mean the Lion no harm. As I said, you are welcome to join us and share in the glory of our victory. Let us pass.” “The word of a son of Hida?” Aoiko laughed, “What is that worth?”

A loud crack was followed with sudden silence as Kisada struck Aoiko across the face. The samurai-ko staggered backward on one knee, eyes wide with pain and surprise. A thousand bowstrings were drawn, their arrows trained upon the Great Bear’s chest. The soldiers closest to their commander reached for their swords. “Stay your blades,” Aoiko said roughly as she rose to her feet. “There is no call for retribution. I asked this man a question... and he answered as I would have. As any true samurai would have.” She looked up at Kisada, lips curling in a vicious smile. “A quest you say? And glory to be won?”

“Indeed,” Kisada rumbled.

“What enemy do you seek?” she inquired.

“Iuchiban,” the Great Bear said. “The key to his destruction lies here in Lion lands. I intend to obtain it, find his heart, and destroy the Bloodspeaker.” “And you are truly Kisada, the Great Bear, the man who would have conquered Otosan Uchi itself, and who formulated the strategies that won the Day of Thunder?”

“What do you think?” Kisada asked.

Aoiko looked upon the massive warrior that stood before her, upon his cold black eyes burning with untapped rage. She looked upon the soldiers that followed him – battle-hardened Crab one and all – soldiers who had survived passage through an impossible mountain range at this man’s command and then intended to charge into battle against an enemy who it was said could not be killed.

“It matters not,” Aoiko said fiercely. “I am with you.”

This city had been beautiful, once. He remembered it clearly, as he remembered everything. That had always been his curse: to see clearly, to remember clearly, to retain all and know it forever in perfect detail. Such a thing might seem a blessing, but it was not. To remember every nuance of the truth and see how others attempt to twist it into a lie. To see things in their former glory and then recognise that all of it was doomed to a slow crumble into ruin. To remember how things truly were, to see how they are now, and worst of all to recognise how no one else seemed to remember or care how obviously the Empire spiralled into ruin and stagnation. This was his existence, and it was for this reason that he had sought immortality – so that there might be something constant, something eternal, a glory that would endure through the ages. Thus he had chosen his new name from the language of the khadi, a name that meant “Eternal”. Iuchiban.

The immortal sorcerer leaned back upon the twisted throne Yajinden had fashioned for him, crafted of red steel and engraved in images of human bodies twisted in pain and torment. What had changed? How had he become this? Power and destruction had never been part of his original plan. Power had only ever been a means to assure his immortality and destruction was merely a way to pass the time. After all, what did it matter if he tortured and destroyed lesser beings that were doomed to fade into nothing? Such was his right; he would endure when they were gone and they were worthless anyway. Morality and honour were for lesser men.

Still, Iuchiban pondered, his path had become clouded. At first, he merely sought justice, to take back the throne that his elder brother did not deserve. Later, he sought revenge for his imprisonment. When he awoke and saw that another mortal had succeeded where he had failed – assuming the Hantei throne through bravery and determination rather than guile and magic – he had though to shatter this new Rokugan. He had pursued power in the Hidden City, seeking to increase his already significant strength.

Yet since the battle in Gisei Toshi something seemed wrong. Iuchiban had slowly come to recognise his failure. There were powers greater than he, powers he did not fully understand. Iuchiban gazed out from the window of his iron citadel, at the ruins below and the rolling hills past them. He looked at the Emperor’s Road meandering into the distance – the road he had once followed into lands beyond Rokugan – and he contemplated what was to come.

Iuchiban rested one hand upon his chest, where his heart had once rested so long ago. Once he had believed arrogance was his luxury, but now it would be his undoing. His quest for power had awakened forces greater than himself, forces that would now stop at nothing to remove the threat he presented. Those who moved against him likely did not even realise what they served. No doubt Daigotsu, the fallen Dark Lord, numbered among his enemies as well as whatever emissary the Realm of Thwarted Destiny had dispatched against him. It was no matter. They would come, and he would be prepared. If he failed, he would leave the ignorance of their true master as final punishment for their defiance.

Iuchiban would not die easily.